And poof, it is so.

Embrace your id! Tourrets for life! Tourrets for fucking PRESIDENT! Yes, most people wait until they're old enough to use senility as an excuse, but I've decided to grant my ego and superego a collective early retirement and launch myself head-first into the land of Act First, Think Later.

Motto #1 for NCYICP Day is: Consequences, schmonsequences!

Motto #2 for NCYICP Day is: Propriety, schmropriety! Hey! That's almost as cumbersome as the acronym! How appropriate. Hey! It's appropriate! How ironic, the apropos nature of motto #2, which eschews propriety! Alanis Morrisette would be proud, if she had an inkling as to what actually consitutes irony.

And no, I shall never stop harping on Alanis Morrisette.

Sometimes, I love me so much I could eat myself up. Alas, I am not that limber, and I have other things to do.

(You said "eat myself UP," Kelly. Not the other preposition!)

Excuse me a moment.

*BAP!* THIS IS NOT YOUR DAY! BACK TO YOUR PADDOCK BEFORE I SLIP YOU ANOTHER ROOFIE!

Sorry... I had a momentary Superego flare-up, and had to beat it back into submission. Like one of those plastic rodents in a whack-a-mole arcade game. I'm glad I had my mallet on hand.

My mind's all fragmented. Must be the hard drugs.

OH!

Rule #1 of NCYICP Day: You don't talk about NCYICP Day.

Just kidding. Such a rule would require impulse control, which negates the entire point of NCYICP Day. So, talk! Spread the Word of Id! Go forth and multiply, little idlets!

No, but Rule #1 of NCYICP Day is actually: Always carry a blunt bludgeoning device. Which is redundant, I suppose; bludgeoning devices being blunt by nature. (Not cuz they haitchya.)

Actually, let's make that Rule #2. The real Rule #1 of NCYICP Day shall be: There are no rules. There are merely suggestions.

(I guess that if I were maintaining a structure of some sort, I should keep the bludgeoning rule as Rule #1, and the new Rule #1 should actually by Amendment #1, but any sort of organized order would go against the new Rule #1, that there are no rules.

Well, I guess that's rather perfect.

Bah. Feel free to fuck with the rulesuggestions as you deem necessary. I have a headache.)

Let me offer you an example of the handiness of bludgeoning tools indicated in the original Rule #1, now Rule #2, while you are in the throes of idness:

Last night, a co-busrider was chewing VERY LOUDLY in the seat behind me. I have tried to let go of this particular pet peeve, but I can not manage to abide audible mastication. It makes me implode. Seriously. I recoil involuntarily, and my head bends impossible to the side as if I'm trying to shield my ears with my shoulders, or I just abruptly leave the room. I've tried, I tell you, to ignore the very common (but RUDE) behavior of open-mouthed chewing, as my overdramatic reaction can be a rather embarrassing handicap, but to no avail. I still hate it, will always hate it, and will do my part to prevent the proliferation of the inexcusable grossness that is loud chewing.

Anyway. Back to the bus. So, this girl was smacking and cudding and popping her gum right behind me. As a warm up for today's NCYICP Extravaganza, I whipped out my snow-shovel and pounded her in the face with it.

"Ow," she said.

"Happy NCYICP Eve," I replied, and explained to her why I wanted to clock her with my shovel, and why I did not restrain myself. She immediately saw the error of her ways, grinned a newly bloody and disentoothed smile, and thanked me.

"Good thing you had that shovel," she glurgled through the torrent of blood pouring from her gums.

"Good thing," I replied. "Id be with you."

At that point, everyone on the bus caught the id-fever and began to dance and make out. And it was only NCYICP Eve!

What revelry is in store for today?

Well, I'll tell you. It mostly involves unpremeditated violence on my part, assaults of passion, if you will, because no one in my office seems aware of NCYICP Day, and are thus keeping their normal corporate attitudes of professional civility. Normally, I don't mind this terribly, as the people at work are very nice, and I and can actually be very good at keeping a sort of corporate-with-a-kick gameface on. (One of the reasons I'm grateful for my Irish Catholic heritage: a long tradition of natural proclivity towards emotional repression.) I, however, am not only aware of NCYICP Day, I fucking founded NCYICP Day! So, I am perfectly willing to observe it alone.

Beware the wrath of the mild-mannered secretary.

A buttload of boxes, chock-full o' Staples products, were delivered about an hour ago, so I opened them and toddled about distributing such goodies as hanging file folders and legal-sized envelopes. This distribution involved me dragging a large and heavy box through the corridor, bent at the waist and scooching the box backwards, inch by inch, while I'm wearing a skirt and heels. I LOVED IT! I'm serious. I got such a kick out of that absurd bit of excercise.

Nonetheless, several people were like, "Kelly, why don't you get one of the guys to help you with that?" They don't know, you see, that I have quite a resume of hard labor under my belt. Most actors do, I would say.

Working as an underling at one summerstock festival, I and my fellow apprentices had to help prepare and host the 25th Silver Anniversary Gala for the theatre company. This was fine... I was appointed a wine-pourer, which meant I had to mingle with the crowd, a bottle of white in one hand and a bottle of red in the other, making sure the guests' glasses were kept full, making sure the guests got increasingly inebriated, making sure they bid a helluvalot more money on silent auction items than they would have if they had been sober. Cake, that job.

However, 2 hours before guests started to arrive, a surprise truck showed up in the parking lot and deposited A TON AND A HALF OF GRAVEL in a big fucking pile. So. I and the rest of the apprentices on the lowest rung of the company ladder spent the next two hour frantically spreading out 3,000 lbs. of gravel over the very large parking lot, using brooms and shovels.

Brooms and shovels.

Hell, it was OK. It was hardly the first bit of hard labor we had been asked to do, and we were allowed to get plenty drunk afterwards. Plus, it grunt work is in the job description of any apprentice position, and I have no pity for people who whine about the hard work after being fully warned about what they were getting themselves into. So there.

Also, I have made a basement. I went on a volunteer trip to rural Virginia a few years ago, and I and a few others in my group were sent to an elderly woman's house to help her clear away some storage space. Yuh. Please read "clear away some storage space" as "take this tiny pickaxe and hollow out the solid rock foundation of this house." It was very satisfying, really. We got to wear little spelunking helmets with lights on them, and I got some great pictures. Using a flash, of course, seeing how we were underground, and all.

Not that I'm She-Woman or anything, but I know I can handle the lugging of a Staples box. So. When asked if I needed help, while the askers meant well, I kneed each of them in the groin, as it was my first reaction and, as the founder of NCYICP Day, I had to remain in keeping with the (un)tenets. (It always rankles me a bit when someone asks if I need help from "one of the guys" instead of just helping me themselves. I mean, have you seen the guys in my department? Oh -- no, you haven't. Well, they're little. And/or old. And/or out-of-shape. In short, I could beat them senseless while tied to a chair.)

So. Today.

Eat that chocolate cake!

Tell off your asshole boss!

Rob that bank and throw that party!

Smooch that stranger on the train!

Nail that asshole with a staple gun!

Buy that $500 set of baby-hair makeup brushes!

Take off your clothes and dance! Dance! Dance! (I'm dancing right now.)

Throw shit! Break shit! Make love to the camera!

Remember, your id is your closest friend. Poop, oh POOP, on impulse control.

Love and kisses.

Happy NCYICP Day, 2003.

Hey! My friend Amanda just called to tell me that she has a new baby! His name is Pheonix, and he's 8.2 lbs., and he looks like his daddy.

Yippee.

In honor of NCYICP Day, I think I might steal me a baby. Not Amanda's, though. That would be awful mean.

~ Last Five Entries ~

Moths, and Relative Nonsense - 08.18.05

I Finally Have Internet Access in my Bedroom. But, No Ashtray. - 08.09.05

Here I Am - 08.02.05

One-Armed Paper Hanger Earns her Wings - 07.29.05

Sugar & Lemon - 07.28.05

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BUY JEN'S BOOK! BUY IT! DO IT!

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BUY DEAN'S BOOK, TOO! YOU KNOW YOU WANNA! SERIOUSLY.

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